


Bittersweet

by heartsinger



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Hence the title, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinger/pseuds/heartsinger
Summary: An exploration of how Mark might feel if he's been carrying a torch for Roger. Covers the events of the story and a while after.





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> I last worked on this five years ago, and the quality of the writing isn't what I'd like it to be, but it's a oneshot and it's not going to get more done, so I figured I'd share it in case anyone could get something out of it. And I'm working on Continuation, but it's kicking my butt. If anyone wants to talk out ideas with me, let me know. The story would be worse than it is without the invaluable assistance of Sparkly_Eevee. Enjoy!

When I saw him walk out the back door of the Life with Mimi, I smiled. He lived for me. When he was getting off the heroin, when he was so broken up over April (that bitch) that he could barely think, he was living for me. I could hardly live with myself, I felt so damn guilty (when I wasn't too busy trying to live up to what he needed), but who can resist that? Being so needed that someone will quit heroin for you? That's fucking commitment. But once he was off, he kept saying he was going to die, that I should leave before I got in too deep. I said I didn't care (I don't want to live alone), and anyway, I was in far too deep as it was, but he just wouldn't fucking listen. He stopped living. I’d spent so much fucking time keeping him something vaguely resembling sane and healthy, and what does he do? Sit in the fucking apartment, doing absolutely nothing. I tried to get him to come with me when when I went to the Life for tea, to the Catscratch Club, anything  but he never came. He didn't care anymore. Slowly, the strains of music coming from the room in the loft went away, and I spent night after night tossing and turning on the couch, but I didn't cry. Maureen came, and I started dating her. Some part of me hoped to ignite Roger's jealous streak, and the rest just wanted to be cared about by someone who hadn't given up on life. I loved her too, just differently. Maureen was so alive, such a whirlwind of being, so sweet and comforting. When she cheated on me, it hurt. Well, I guess that’s kinda a duh statement, isn’t it? But it was the most I’d felt since all this began. I’d turned so much off just to cope, and her leaving jumpstarted my feelings. I began to wonder if something was wrong with me, not just an inability to be careful about who I fell in love with. Why did they always break my heart? 

When Mimi came, he started living again. He smiled, for the first time in months, with her. He needed it. I never wanted to watch him die slowly, but I wanted even less to watch him die without even trying to use the time he had left, without the light in his eyes that made me want to be his friend in the first place, the light that had lit this little loft like a lamp all its own. When he left, I wanted to give up, but that would make me exactly what he had accused me of being, a hypocrite, so I kept going. When your life is dictated by someone who doesn't notice it, you're either crazy or in love, depending on who gets to write history. I finally got my own spark, and finished my film. I worked so I wouldn't think, I clenched my jaw so I wouldn't scream, I pretended to actually care when Maureen called complaining about Joanne, and expressed my (somewhat vindictive) empathy when Joanne called complaining about Maureen. I kept moving, called Mimi in rehab occasionally to encourage her, but mostly I just slogged through the day at Buzzline, and then went home to finish my film. When Roger came home on the thirtieth of November, I jumped in surprise. I hadn't really expected him to come back. They never do.

I sat facing away from the door, eating the last of the food paid for by my Buzzline salary, having quit two weeks ago. Froot Loops. It was always Froot Loops. We had a thing with Froot Loops. But never mind, that isn't the story I'm telling. Anyway, I was also looking through the mail that had been sent my way. Other news programs wanted to see my work, after my time at Buzzline. I wasn't sure I was going to take them up on it - I had enough money for the next couple of weeks, and I didn't want to leave behind my beliefs again. I was pondering my options, looking at the Village, and I didn't hear the door open. I finished my Loops and put the bowl by the sink and turned around to start getting my camera set up for some commentary on my film. I still hadn't decided what to call it, but something Angel had said once was bouncing in the back of my mind. I couldn't remember exactly what it was. When I went to pick up my camera off the couch, a hand stopped mine. I looked up, and stopped. Stopped breathing, stopped moving, I swear, my heart skipped a couple beats.

"Roger!?"  

"For a filmmaker, you're awfully unobservant! I've been here for ten minutes."

"Why didn't you say something!?"

"Wanted to see how long it would be before you noticed."

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to punch him, I wanted to run, I wanted to hug him, I wanted to scream. For about a half-second, I stood there, over-analysing. My underused social brain couldn't figure out what to do. I was hyperaware of my hand on his.

"Where's Mimi? She wasn't downstairs."

Mimi. Part of me broke right then, but I kept on going. I wasn't going to let a little thing like heartbreak stop me from watching, just as I always did.

"Rehab, last I checked."

"How?"

"Benny. She was broken up when you left. She wanted to get away from anything that reminded her of you. So she asked him to pay for rehab. Mr. Rich did so. She's not doing so hot, but they think she'll pull through."

"SPEEEEEAK!"

It was Benny. When his message was finished, Roger looked like he might cry, but he also looked determined.

"We're going to find her."

"Of course."

As the weeks went by, his shoulders drooped more and more. It was almost like watching him after April in slow motion. I wanted to hide my eyes, but I watched. I watched. It's what I do. I couldn't do anything else. I'm not some great force for change, just an albino Jewish kinda gay boy with a camera. So I watch, so I'll be able to remember. If I can't change it, I at least won't forget it. I slept on that goddamn lumpy couch, and then Christmas Eve came around. Watching him when Mimi died.... That was probably the hardest thing I ever did. But I watched. When she came back, I knew I would get to see Roger live again, if only for as long as she did.

I took one of the jobs at a more newsy news show, and Mimi hung on for a few months, between Benny and me's money, but she had PCP, and it was only a matter of time. Roger wilted some, but Mimi was so bright, even as she faded, and she wanted him to live for today so badly. He was writing again, and the strains of something other than Musetta's Waltz came to my ears. The day that she died was hard, and we all cried, but somehow, it was less tragic than it would have been before. Mimi maybe didn't do everything she would have wanted, but she did live. Roger was devastated, yes, but I could still see some of the light that Mimi put back in his eyes. That same day, Benny came by.

"Look, I know you don't want charity, but Mimi said she wanted me to offer this again. It was the last thing she ever asked me to do, so please, take this new lease. Rent free, all that jazz."

"Thanks," I said, taking the contract and beginning to look over it. Once I had read it in full, I took the pen Benny offered me and signed at the bottom. Then I got Roger from the room, where he had been playing the guitar and writing.

"Roger, we have company. Come on out, there's something you need to see."

"I'm writing!"

"It's important!"

"Fine!"

About ten minutes later, Roger entered the main room. I handed him the contract.

"We pay for heat and electricity, but we have the space free. Wouldn't it be nice to not worry about that for a change? I already signed it, as did Benny. We have a copy of our own, so he can't go back on it, either."

"Mmm.."

Roger signed it and handed it back to Benny. Roger returned to the room we had shared, once upon a time, and Benny left. I sat on the couch, tired of everything. I had a funeral to plan. I didn't want to ask Roger to do it, but someone had to. She had wanted something that was a celebration of life, not grieving at her death, she had told me a few days ago. I flipped through the phonebook, trying to find a Catholic church that would accept an AIDS victim for a funeral. Mimi hadn't really practiced, but she had some belief in that God still. When we finally found one, Benny paid for everything again. Roger waxed poetic, sang Your Eyes, and a new song about her and how she had inspired him to live. 

When we got home that evening, he said, "I'll take the couch. You've been far too self-sacrificing lately! Don't think I haven't noticed!" poking my chest with a finger. I almost flinched, not expecting it, but managed not to.

"Okay." I said. I went into my old room and laid down, not really expecting the Rogersmell that hit me like a brick wall the instant I put my head on the pillow. Living with him, I was mostly immune, but occasionally... I curled up like a turtle and pretended to be asleep. Roger was apparently more aware than I had given him credit for, so I wasn't about to start moving around and having to make up reasons why I couldn't sleep. I moved very little, just being curled up and cold, even with the heavy blankets over me. I knew that the weather had little to do with my feeling of coldness, even though it was negative five outside, close to record for New York. It had everything to do with being so emotionally fucked up and repressed. I couldn't even be a Bohemian right. My mother's voice in my head said:

"Mark, really, you need to stop getting ideas in your head. You can't just change the Sabbat. It isn't done. You will never just be a proper Jewish boy, will you? Hmph."

That memory was an unpleasant one. Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. While I hadn't been paying attention, it seemed, Roger had come into the room.

"This is ridiculous. It's five below and I just put the last of the firewood for the week in the barrel. Sleeping separately is going to get us both hypothermia. And quit pretending to be asleep."

"How did you know?"

"I wasn't sure until you said something, but I figured you couldn't possibly be asleep, not in this weather. Move over."

"Kay." I was shivering with the cold, and I had a pit of writhing poisonous snakes in my belly, screaming at me to get the hell away from such dangerous things. But I couldn't let Roger get cold.

'Yeah, right, everything's all nice and altruistic,' said the sarcastic voice in my head. Roger was cold, though. He wrapped himself around me like a limpet, trying to share in what little warmth I had left. I nearly started crying. I hadn't been this close to anyone in  _ months _ , besides brief hugs, let alone  _ Roger _ . In lieu of crying, I started rubbing my hands over his back to get some friction going, and tugged the blankets so we were both completely covered by them.

"Nightynight," I said to Roger, who was adorably snuggled into my shoulder.

"You are extremely cold. Why didn't you say something?" he asked, turning his burrowed face a little towards my ear so I could hear him.

"I didn't want to be a bother."

"Sometimes you are unbelievably dumb. Finding your cold dead body in the morning would be rather bothersome, wouldn't it?"

"It isn't that cold."

"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but I've no desire to find out the hard way. Next time let me know, okay?"

"Okay." I replied, mostly to shut him up. If I had to listen to him talking so close to my ear for one more second, I was going to explode. The bittersweetness of this moment was enough to make me cry, if I remembered how.  I tried to get comfortable, but I just couldn't do it.

"Why are you so tense? You're stiff as a board."

"Not tense, just cold," I lied.

"Bullshit. If you were just cold, you'd be moving, trying to create friction or something. But you're laying there like a very tense lump. What has been wrong with you lately? You've been so quiet. You've hardly spoken a word since Mimi came back, and you weren't as talkative as usual after I came home."

"It's nothing, really. I'm just cold and tired, okay? Now go to sleep!"

"Fine, fine."

Twenty minutes later, Roger's breathing had evened out, and I was finally able to relax a little. An hour later, I was asleep.

_ 'Roger, god, please....' _

_ 'Fuck, yes, Mark.....' _

_ " _ MARK! WAKE UP! You're just having a nightmare."

"Wha?"

Great. Just fucking great. Once again, I'm dreaming about Roger, only this time he's actually here. Fuck. At least he seems to be under the misapprehension that I just had a nightmare.

"You okay? You were writhing around and moaning. You didn't seem to be having much fun."

If only you knew, Roger, if only you knew.

"I wasn't. Thanks for the wakeup call."

"No problem."


End file.
